Plant Me a Garden
by Republik Osterreich
Summary: A Cold War Trio Pairing. I concentrate on Russia and China. Revolves around the formation and breakup of the Sino-Soviet Alliance, and dissolving of USSR. May rate it higher later...
1. Chapter 1: Fearless

Plant Me a Garden

Chapter 1: Fearless (Skipping the Cracks)

Beijing, 4 A.M.

Counting the white lines, skipping the cracks, screaming my heart out into the suffocating night, how did things turn out this way? The Chinaman stumbled along the road, step after agonizing step.

21-22-23…

Yao had never known such a thing as loneliness before. Even when the Japanese were trampling over him, he was never alone. After that, Ivan and Alfred came around with almost impossible claims. "I'll be your hero, indeed." Yao smiled bitterly. Both nations had come to China with the same promises. To be the hero, the shield, the armor, to protect Yao from abuse and persecution. But where were they now?

41-42-43

"I think I'm falling now…" Yao whispered into the open maw of the darkness, looking up into the starless sky.

[Superman]

…

Nearly seduced,

Skipping the cracks and counting the little yellow

Lines in the street

24-25-26

If the world falls from beneath me, will you be here to

Save me?

If only I could understand those long silent pauses

When you aren't singing

Along

I think the world may be falling now…

27-28-29

Moscow, 11 P.M.

Ivan was at it again. Drinking the vodka out of the bottle, the Russian wondered how much it would take to bring him down. Vodka, abuse, and heartbreak, he'd suffered them all. Even now, he winced as he shifted his attention towards the hole in his chest. Even while his heart was missing, he simply would not die. It was an annoying feeling, Ivan thought, to not be able to die, even when you wished to do so.

While he was mourning, General Winter had returned. While he shed tears, жестокий had utterly destroyed the Russian's sunflower garden. That beloved garden was where Ivan's first sunflower had bloomed, the one he gave to China. "Yao…" What was he without the Chinaman? He was the one who tended the garden with Ivan, trying to make the sunflower blossom. He was the one who had battled the countless nights against General Winter with the Russian. Now he no longer had China beside him. Staring into the sky tinged with the red of flames, he sighed.

For the first time in a while, he was afraid.

Washington D.C, 3 P.M.

Alfred was on a cruise ship gliding along the slowly darkening waters of the Potomac River. "Spring…is a little late this year, isn't it?" He spoke to no one in particular. The sun already had begun to set a mere 10 minutes ago, and already the temperature was plummeting. He slightly tilted the glass of champagne he was holding, raising it up to the dying sunlight. He missed bickering over things with Ivan. After all, Alfred thought, that kept things relatively 'hot'. He stared into the swirling colors inside the glass.

But…the American sighed. What had he done? What were the consequences of his arguments with the Russian? All the while, he was gambling and flirting with danger. He and Ivan tore entire countries into half, as well as utterly traumatizing China, who was clearly not the same man he used to be.

If his actions had caused this, if his actions brought on the suffering of so many, how could he be worthy of admiration and respect?

What kind of hero was he?

[[Story was requested by Ophelia Xu (yes, I take requests) Kindly review so I can improve! ^^* and the poem is NOT mine]]

Translations:

Жестокий: The Cruel One


	2. Chapter 2: Breathless

Chapter 2: Breathless

Beijing, 6 A.M.

Yao Wang plunged himself into the warm bathwater. Here, surrounded by the thick steam and comforting warmth, it was easier to forget what had happened between him and Ivan. The Chinaman felt his brain grow foggier. But, Yao thought, was the problem really gone just because you forget about it? As soon as he left the warmth, the painful memories came back like a dull, throbbing pain in the back of your mind resurfacing into something more acute, breaking the surface of serenity.

China submerged half of his face under the water and held his breath. What if…everything simply ended here? He was destitute, alone, and left with absolutely nothing. What if he no longer had to endure the pain? It was as simple as sliding underneath the water and letting go. He will cease to breathe.

Tempting. It was all very tempting.

Yao giggled nervously. Once upon a time, he had known a different kind of breathlessness. That first moment when Ivan appeared before him, with his violet eyes lit by passion and his blond hair fluttering lightly in the freezing wind, the Chinaman had simply…forgotten how to breathe. This feeling had continued throughout his stay with Russia. From time to time, he needed to be reminded, to be given the proof, that he was still alive. Was he in heaven, to be subject to such joy? Perhaps he was in hell, to be forever taunted by a man he could never truly have.

Today, he had learned another kind of breathlessness from the same man.

Moscow, 1 A.M.

Ivan gasped from the unbearable pain. He staggered, supporting himself with the desk. Fresh blood dripped form the recently reopened wound in his chest. Breathing heavily, he leaned against the wall and laid one quivering hand in the hole where his heart once was. His entire body was convulsing, as if the whole country was revolting against him.

The Russian coughed violently, tasting the iron in his mouth. He smiled serenely. The Soviet Union was collapsing, and he could already feel himself fading. "Скатертью дорога.,"he said, stopping only to catch his breath. Perhaps heaven, hell, or wherever he was going after he faded would be a warmer place. He would leave the center of the stage to Alfred…for now.

"I'm sorry, Yao."

If they had loved each other, why did they every break up?

With this last regret, the Советский Союз breathed his last.

Washington D.C, 5 P.M.

Alfred was lying down in a bunk bed on his cruise ship, the "Capitalist Heart". The name served only to taunt Ivan and Yao. When they had first seen the name inscribed on the side of the ship, the two comrades merely looked at each other and laughed. Even so, Alfred felt the hateful glares when he wasn't looking at them, How far had he gone to try to break the two apart? Undoubtedly, he had succeeded.

But was it worth it? Was it really worth the trouble, pain, and tears of betrayal he had seen when the Sino-Soviet breakup occurred? Alfred wasn't sure anymore. This uncertainty frightened the American the most. He had never been unsure in his life. "Stupid Communists…" Who cared if America was at fault, as well? He could just blame it on somebody else, like he had always done. The American was uncomfortable with this new sensation. No, he despised it.

America tried to get up, but his ever rising panic got to him first. Dizziness overwhelmed him as he realized that he couldn't breathe. What would happen if he were to…just disappear? Alfred sat down on the bed, sliding a hand down his cheek. If he had a heart attack, would the world even notice? Would they care, or even worse, would they perhaps revel in his death?

Alfred shuddered, still gasping to breather easier. He preferred not to think about such things, but here were his faults, laid out as plain as day in front of him. Laughing sarcastically, the American flopped back onto the bed. "Who cares?" He said to no one in particular. Would anyone care? No matter which country winked out of existence, there were plenty more to take its place. Besides, in this era, all anybody cared about was profit. What use was love and affection? It did not serve as any kind or currency. In fact, it was nothing but a hindrance. No one would care…

The phone started ringing.

[[I KILLED IVAN. Don't murder me…I swear, he's making a comeback...Soon, I think]]

Translations:

Скатертью дорога: Good riddance

Советский Союз: Soviet Union


	3. Chapter 3: Zero

Chapter 3: Zero

Washington D.C, 8 P.M.

"Fat communist bastard!" Alfred punched the wall, his facial expression darkening. Did the Russian have any idea what impact the fall of the Soviet Union had on the World? When he had tried to contact old acquaintances, they could not provide any clue as to what happened. In fact, both of Ivan's sisters were out of commission. Ukraine picked up the phone but could not utter a proper word. Natalia, it seemed, had gone off the map altogether. She was literally untraceable. Belarus did not pick her cell phone no was she found via satellite. Of course, she would be found eventually, but her absence caused uneasiness in the global atmosphere.

The American knew that the USST did not crumble so easily. It had been the result of decades old trauma and struggle against the Union. Even so, there was no way Ivan would just let himself dies against his will. Alfred rubbed his forehead. Ivan had been too big to fail. Even during his years of subjugation by the Mongols, even when Germany had trampled all over him like a doormat, the Russian persisted, resisting until the end.

But here was reality, knocking on Alfred's consciousness. The facts were undeniable: The Soviet Union, after years of communist and Socialist control, had crumpled. Lithuania bore witness to Ivan's body fading away. Even now, Toris was being questioned to figure out the intricacies of the death. According to the Lithuanian, it was likely that something had happened to the heart.

Moscow, the heart. It had always been a great mystery how the Russian was able to survive with his heart wandering around. Now, it seemed that his heart did matter to Ivan. After all, Ivan was a living being. Every mortal must, at one point, cease to live. Death, it was an unstoppable, primal fear.

"But," America wondered aloud, "if something happened to the heart…who did it?"

Who was responsible for the death of the Russian?

Beijing, 9 A.M.

Yao, staggered to his knees, collapsing at the weight of the news. Ivan…was gone. The whole world had gone into some kind of red alert. The Baltic nations formerly under his subjugation were clueless as to how to respond. Ukraine had gone into a panic attack, and Belarus was nowhere to be found. Some said that had she died of grief upon hearing the news, and some said that she committed suicide to follow Ivan to the depths of Hell. China felt an unexpected twinge of jealousy for her. To be so…devoted…was a blessing.

But what about me? Yao cried out in his mind. Why hadn't the Russian taken Yao with him? He let the poison of hatred build up. Why did Ivan leave him alone to fend for himself in such a cruel world? Where did he belong?

Using the wall as his support, the Chinaman stood up shakily. This was no time to stay sitting in a state of shock. The Russian must have left him something. At this moment, Yao would have taken anything. A sign, perhaps? A message, or instructions in his will? Yao laughed hysterically. Of course, Ivan wouldn't have left a will. It was most likely that he didn't even know that he was about to die; he was too stubborn for that,

"Uh…형아?" Yong-Soo peeked nervously from behind the door. The South Korean was looking rather flustered, which was quite unlike him. "Yong-Je delivered a package for you just now. Should I just…leave it here?" Of course. China understood. North Korea had come calling, which was a rare occasion in itself. Yao motioned for Yong-Soo to leave the package and go. If it had come from North Korea's side, perhaps it could be from Ivan?

A few seconds later, China carefully opened the package, taking great care not to damage whatever was inside. Nestled against the purple cloth…was a single sunflower seed.

"Oh, Ivan…" The Chinaman was reduced to tears. "I understand…" His voice was thick with suffering. His throat was hurting him though it had received no wound. Words could not express the dull pain of these things. Yao fell silent, while the vivid stars were split and danced all ways in front of his eyes.

It was the day Ivan's first sunflower had bloomed. The Russian plucked it, handing it to Yao. "Ivan," China said, refusing to accept the flower, "it's not mine to take." He shook his head, smiling.

"Нет." Ivan insisted, giggling. "I can grow another one later. Besides," the taller man shrugged, "you were the one who helped me." With a mischievous smile, the Russian spoke again. "Instead, could you do me a favor?"

"什麼?"

"There will come a time…when I will not be able to fend for these flowers anymore. When that day comes, will you plant a sunflower garden for me?" The Russian had an odd half smile on his face, as if he had no idea what he was feeling. "What that day comes…" He shivered.

Reaching up to lay one had on Ivan's cheek, Yao whispered, "That day will never come."

The Communist smiled bitterly, gazing tiredly into China's eyes. "It will. And when it does, you will know exactly what to do."

Translations:

Нет: No

什麼？:What?

[[ the spotlight is on China! Something really awesome will happen within two chapters or so…maybe. Suggestions and comments? Please?]]


	4. Chapter 4:Blank

Chapter 4: Blank

Beijing, 1 P.M.

The once scalding cup of tea had now gone cold. Yao glanced sideways at the sunflower seed, still nestled in the cloth that it had come in. "A sunflower garden, huh…" The Chinaman smiled sadly. Ivan could be so childish sometimes. What use would a whole field of sunflowers be, now that he was gone? Without the other man to share it with, it would only be meaningful to Yao. But yes, no matter how odd it had seemed, it was undoubtedly Ivan's last wish. It would be done.

When his hand brushed against the seed, China could have sworn that he had felt a pulse of some sort beneath his fingertips. "Like a heart…" He tilted his head slightly. Perhaps the seed was a remnant of the Russian? Perhaps. The world was so strange and wide, this concept wouldn't be odd at all. Perhaps there was a way to bring back Ivan. Though it would be a long and grueling process, perhaps there was hope.

He cradled the small seed in his palm, tearing up. Why did hope have to look so frail?

If there was faith…

Yao began by calling Alfred.

Washington D.C, 12:45 A.M.

"I hope you know what time it is over here." The American rubbed his eyes sleepily, yawning. "We young ones need our sleep, you know." Actually, Alfred had not even been close to sleeping tonight. Ivan's' death had left many chores for the young nation. In fact, the call from China had only been one of the many from across the world. But, unlike the others, Yao had contacted him with a very strange request: He had wanted some sort of investment capital and construction materials.

"As you probably, know, I have enough people to do the job. But the problem is that I don't have the money or the refined material to the work with!" Yao said, laughing over the phone. Somehow, to Alfred, something seemed a little off with the Chinaman's tone. It was almost as if… he was broken in a way. What was Yao up to?

"Alfred? You still awake?" China's disembodied voice filtered through the receiver, sounding more normal. Had he imagined it? Perhaps Yao as only trying to build another hundred Chinatowns in some remote places, the American thought, chuckling.

"All right, I was planning to come over to your house sometime, anyway." Yao was most likely trying to get over Ivan's passing by working himself to death. After all, he had been the Russian's only willing lover. Well, Alfred smirked as he bid goodbye and lowered the receiver, if so, he had other plans for the lonely old man. There were some scores he had to settle with the communist pair.

It was time to deprive Ivan of what was his. He grinned when he thought of what the older nations would say when they knew about this. They would flip out, which would be quite entertaining.

Kids these days, after all, had no respect for even the dead.

[[I just realized that I really hate making China say "aru". I've never noticed before until I started writing dialogues for him.

Even though I'm the author, I have no idea where to make of Alfred.

1)Yao and Ivan love each other (though they forcibly distanced themselves)

2) Ivan thinks of Alfred as a rival, and Yao thinks of him as a friend and stepping stone.

But what's going on in Alfred's head?

Comments and suggestions please!]]


	5. Chapter 5: Loveless

Chapter 5: Loveless

Beijing, 8 A.M.

The money and materials arrived before Alfred did. China sat on the cushioned chair with his hand clasped on his knees. He would begin by rebuilding the Russian's house. At the very foundation would be Ivan's, no…their sunflower garden. Already, the preparations were being done at Russia's capital. It would only be a matter of time now, Yao thought, smiling placidly. That is, if no one gets in the way. That wouldn't be a problem, he hoped. He started to stand up. He had better get ready to welcome Arthur. He was due any moment now…

The doors burst open as the Korean twins tumbled in, clearly scared. No, it was not normal. The emotion on their faces spoke of absolute, unspeakable horror, a sort of instinctive, animal fear. They opened their mouths to speak. Young-Jae started first, speaking alternatively with this brother, just like they used to before their separation.

"You shouldn't be here, you idiot."

"You shouldn't-"

"You have to go-"

"-it's not safe-"

"-he made us…He hurt us."

"Oh no-"

"We couldn't help it-"

"Listen, 형-"

"-don't give a shit about what makes sense. That's gone-"

"You've got to go for your own good."

When Yao spoke again, his voice was low, and seemed breathless with a mixture of rage and anxiety. How dare someone hurt Yong-Soo and Yong-Jae? China shuddered, his face contorted and sharpened by his emotions. Did that person know that he was hurting his beloved brothers, who belonged to him? "Who hurt you?"

The twin spoke in unison, spitting out the abominable word as if it burned their mouths.

"America."

As if summoned by the incantation, Alfred walked in. "Hey, hey! Beautiful morning, isn't it? A little cold, but…Oh, the bloody twins are here?" The America's hands immediately reached for the handgun in his back pocket. "I thought I told you two to get out of my sight!" He said, pointing the weapon at the two halves of Korea.

China got in the way, snatching the gun out of the other man's hand. "There will be no more bloodshed in this house! It seems you've forgotten your place, trying to murder my siblings right in front of me! I've invited you here as a guest, remember? I will not tolerate any trespasses against me in my own house!" He turned to the trembling Koreans. "Go wash." He said gently. "Then you can go to your old room and bandage up. You two look horrible." He forced a smile.

"But-" Yong-Soo protested.

"-that bastard is-" North Korea continues, raising his voice.

"I'll be fine." China assured them leading the twins to the hall door. He had endured over 4000 years of torture and peril. Surely he could overcome this, as well. Would he? Thoughts of uncertainty crowded his mind, clamoring for his attention. I…am embracing danger.

He took a deep breath and turned to face the America.

[[Suggestions and comments? Will write a longer chapter next time… Got writer's block, so reading up on Lord of the Flies to over come it…]]


	6. Chapter 6: Sleepless

Chapter 6: Sleepless

Beijing, 9 A.M.

"What is this I hear about you hurting Yong-Soo and Yong-Jae?" China demanded, furious. "You know I'm still their guardian, yes?"

"Well duh, the America replied coolly, shrugging. "But they were getting in the way. Them? Those two are nothing but obstacles and nuisances. In my town, obstacles are a big no no." Alfred wagged his index finger in front of him, grinning like an innocent child who knew no better.

'How rude,' Yao thought, toying with the gun in his hand. For children such as the Koreas to be targeted was horrible, but what if the killer was a child, as well? Would he have the courage to pull the trigger on him? China looked up at the American again. 'A kid!' His mind screamed.' He's nothing but a kid!' The older man glared at America in rekindled scorn. Crossing his arms, he scolded the younger nation. "If you have the time to be running around the place pointing guns at other nations, why don't you do something more productive, like diplomacy? I'm sure there's a lot of that to do, since Ivan's…"

He was interrupted by Alfred snatching the gun out of his hand. "Excuse me?" The Chinese protested, clearly irritated. "I think I was talking to you?"

The American set down the gun on the table and walked closer to China, who, intimidated by the changed atmosphere around the other man, instinctively took a step back. "Why talk about the dead and the gone," Alfred spoke, a mischievous smile spreading across his face, "when there's a living, breathing person in front of you who can replace him? Putting one hand on his shoulder, he walked around to face Yao's back and draped his arms around him, slowly sliding them down his chest.

China's head spun, unable to process with the conflicting wants in his mind. "You don't know what you're asking for." He clenched his jaws. "You wouldn't know..."

A warm hand crept underneath China's shirt, undoing the buttons one by one. "Of course I do." The American sighed as he hugged Yao tighter. "Do you know how many years I spent with England? I know what it means to bottom. It's just that now, I'm going to be with who I want. Tell me I earned that right at the least?" Alfred looked at him with pleading blue eyes. Looking into them felt like plunging into the spring sky. China heard the sound of waves crashing in his ear, drowning out his thoughts.

"Take me."

His words were like bullets shot straight at the heart. 'As, so much for faith.' Yao's mind echoed sadly as he took America's face in his hands and kissed him angrily. Quietly reaching for the switch, Alfred turned off the lamp. For a moment, the two stood awkwardly in the darkness, listening to the sound of each other's ragged breathing.

The communist was the first to break the silence. Pinning the younger man against the wall, he asked, "You didn't come here for this, didn't you? Tell me, why are you here?"

"To make sure Ivan stays dead." If it were light, shame would burn them at saying these things, but the room was dark.

They soon found that, in the dark, the truth of the light world no longer did matter.

[[Since when was America the seductive uke? I guess these things happen… I need to stop with the "Loveless" references. It has a way of getting into my head…Should I raise the rating or something? (Junjo Romantica, I blame you!) Suggestions and comments would be awesome, and a shoutout to Ophelia Xu, who's 'financing' this fanfic!]]


	7. Chapter 7: Bloodless

Chapter7: Bloodless

Beijing, 7 A.M.

The last few hours resonated in China's mind like a forgotten, then rediscovered dream. "Mm Ivan…" He turned over in his bed, wrapping his arm around the other man. "Ah-?" He did not feel the muscled arms of the Russian. Instead, his hands came to rest around America's tanned shoulders. "Ugh, England will kill me for sure." He muttered as Alfred pulled him closer. "You need to get back to work, yes?" He whispered, with irritation. The Chinese rolled out of the bed and began rummaging around the messy covers for Alfred's clothes. He found a sock here, a belt there, but not quite everything… He threw whatever he found into the blonde's reluctant hands. "Ayii- Where did you put your pants? I can't find it!" He dug around frantically for the elusive article of clothing.

"It's right here." Alfred pointed to the floor right next to him. He dumped the clothes in his arms on top of his trousers in a messy pile. "I'm so not going to work today." He flopped back onto the bed on his stomach. "Besides," He pouted, propping his face up with his arms and looking up at China. "Who cares what that tea addict thinks?" The American moaned lazily in mock disgust, tugging on Yao's arms. "On top of that, I'm tired." He whined, staring at China with azure puppy dog eyes. "No way." The Chinese crossed his arms. "It's your fault we had to stay up last night." He surveyed the American carefully. He was on the thin side, with muscled that were well toned and defined, but not as much as Russia's. His skin was a golden brown that now glistened with cold sweat. Yao smiled wistfully. He had remembered, not long ago, he and Ivan would taunt America's chubby build. Perhaps that had motivated Alfred to lose some weight? "Ivan…" China whispered in a hushed exhalation. This was not the time to dwell on the past.

"I'm hungry-!" America's voice jolted China out of his trip down the memory lane. "So? You should cook breakfast, don't you think?" He retorted back, joking and half expecting the capitalist to go reheat a burger or create some concoction of unnatural color. 'He eats like a pig.' Yao thought, chuckling. 'Like a capitalist pig.' But, he mused, how does he keep fit like that?' China glanced shyly at Alfred's stomach. 'A dazzling six pack, huh.' He commented bitterly in his mind. The Russian too has such a body, even though the communist duo was known for their notoriously unhealthy lifestyle.

"Breakfast? No problem! Let me borrow your kitchen for a sec, okay?" America dashed out of the room before he even finished the sentence. Yao immediately regretted letting the Yankee take over when he heard all sorts of odd clattering coming from outside. 'Oh bother.' China absentmindedly lay on the bed again, staring at the empty space where Alfred was last night, whimpering and reaching for the Chinese over and over again. Each time he did, the communist pulled him close and hugged him tight, kissing away the tears of pain, dissolving them in sweetness. They had stayed up all night in such a manner, sharing each other's pain and joy. In that short moment, they felt… complete.

"Whoa! " Alfred's shouts snapped the Asian back to reality. The acrid scent of smoke pressed upon his nose. Yao got up and ran to the kitchen, startled. As he skidded into a halt in the doorway of what was perhaps the largest room in his house, he almost bumped into the American carrying a tray of… mildly burnt pancakes with various topping on it. "Oh, hey!" Alfred smiled, giggling. "Did you ever try making pancakes in a wok? It's impossible, I tell you!" The blonde's face was a mess. His hair was singed, and it was obvious that his fingers were injured. "I'm sorry the pancakes were burnt." He said sheepishly, pouting.

The corner of Yao's mouth twitched in amusement. Was he honestly apologizing about the food? He picked out a strawberry from the mound of whipped cream and popped it into his mouth. He grinned as he chuckled. "No," He pecked America on his cheeks. "I think it's perfect."

[[Holy Cowmie! I haven't uploaded anything in a year! I actually had everything written, but… exams, conventions… I lost track of everything…SO SO Sorry about the delay! I'll try my best to get back on track. Feedback please! Also… there are other fanfics I should be working on… look out for them please! *bows* Aw man….]]


	8. Chapter 8: Nameless

Chapter 8: Nameless

Beijing, 11:30 A.M.

Despite the American's protests, Yao ushered him out of the door and sent him to work, laughing all the while. After many minutes of China insisting that Alfred get his lazy American ass to work, America swept out of the house after a reluctant kiss. "Stay safe and don't get into any foolish trouble while I'm gone." The blonde had made him promise. After bidding him to return soon, Yao sent America away. Both of them, however, did not see the dark smiles on each other's face.

China sank into his chair with a sigh of relief, closing his eyes with a contented smile. With the American gone, it felt as if the house was releasing the breath it had been holding during his stay. AH, what it meant to him, to have such peace after so much commotion. Now, If only Yao could remember what he was doing before-

"Quit hiding and come out, he won't be returning for a while." He spoke quietly towards the curtained doorway. The Korean twins peeked out nervously. "Is he truly-"

"-truly gone?" The twins mused together as if they had rehearsed it.

"是. Now come, I have an errand for you to run…" He motioned for them to approach, smiling impishly. "I need for you to oversee a project of mine for a day before I can get there myself…" From his pocket, he produced a silk scroll, tied with a golden cord. "These are all the instructions you will need, and to give. After all," He flexed his empty fingers, staring at them as Yong Jae took the object from his hands. He looked up, an amused smile on his face. "We must do this the traditional way. You understand, yes?"

"The traditional way…Ah, 러시아. Command authorized." Yong Soo confirmed the request with a dark smile that wasn't seen often on his face.

"And the price? This deal does not come cheap, you know." North Korea asked, sneering at the ancient nation.

"I know of the price. It will , however, not come from me." He waved dismissively. "Consider it… revenge for you two." He added with a chuckle.

"Ah," The twins spoke together. "Revenge, it is sweet, is it not?"

"It is only right." China commented with a shudder. Although they were younger, the Korean twins, when together, were dangerous. They knew things he did not, and possessed powers-

South Korea broke is reverie. "Then-"

"Off we go to Russia." North Korea spoke, already hovering near the doorway.

"Or what it used to be." Yong Soo rolled his eyes.

"You mean, what it will be." Yong Jae added with a humored grin.

"형아, will you promise us a party when this is all over?"

"With Viet, Hong Kong, and Taiwan?" Their words flew on as they headed towards the door.

"Yes, we will celebrate together through the night as a family…" Yao smiled, his expression as dark was the moonless nights in the Forbidden City.

"While all of America burns in hell." The twins spoke together as they left, without looking back, with a parting wave, giggling all the while. "We will see you soon, brother." Their words hungs in the air , thick remains of a cursed promise.

Yao picked up his phone and called a person whom he had never called before out of spite. "你好, Lithuania. If you have time, could I inconvenience you to make some travel arrangements for me?"

Somewhere over the Arctic Ocean,

Washington D.C. 12:30 A.M.

"Oui, oui, thank you, Liet." Francis lowered the receiver and swiveled his chair towards Alfred. "They are indeed on the move, mon Cherie. What now?"

Alfred clasped his hands together. "We move against them, of course." He slid his hands though his hair. "I offered him another option, and he chose to reject it. This won't end until I have them in checkmate. For him to call on Yong Soo and Yong Jae… This is too rash." He muttered under his breath, "You really have gotten reckless, old man. Do these sentiments mean so much to you?"

France asked him nervously. "Why is it that you insist on ending Russie, mon ami? What is it that he has done to anger you so ?"

Alfred chuckled. "Ah, brother, let me tell you a story…

"_There was a man who loved another dearly. They had kept their love a secret from the disapproving glares of the world. They were happy, even if it was just for a while when they were together. But something went wrong. The two lovers had a quarrel and parted. But one of them, heartbroken and unable to let the other go, bent towards the man and snarled into his ear. 'You are a monster, and I. Never. Loved. You.' In a fit of anger, the man cursed, abused, and fought against his lover in the battlefields until the other man died. Wracked with the grief and guilt at what he had done, the man wished for everything to be over, forgotten._

_ "But he was not so lucky._

_ "The story of the two lovers is not over, because the man's lover still stirs in his death. When the occasion rises, when his streets are drenched in the blood of the guilty, the innocent, and the sorrowful, and the past converges in one place, he will and walk among the living, seeking a way to live once more._

_ "Perhaps the man's lover will succeed and come back to life. Perhaps all he will do is take the man by his hand and bring him down together to the deep snowy plains so he will not have to be alone._

_ "I do not know the ending to the story, nor do I know the moral. All I have is my belief, no, my conviction, that the man's lover must not live again, even if he has moved on from loving the man to love other people."_

He looked up, flashing a humorless grin at the Frenchman. "Turn the plane towards Moscow. It's time for the hero to save the world."

Alfred looked into the black night. "And tonight we dine in hell, ayre?"

"Non." Francis muttered as he emptied the bottle of wine into the sink. "Just one of us."

Translations:

是: Yes

러시아: Russia

형아: Brother

你好: Hello

Russie : Russia

[[*grumbles* at this rate, I'll have enough chapters to publish a book. The story never ends in my head and seems to have a life of its own… Feedback please ? Gah… I suspect I'll write a good 5 more chapters before I finish this story…]]


	9. Chapter 9: Faceless

Chapter 9: Faceless

Old Moscow, 3:00 P.M.

A shrouded man tentatively stepped off the stairs from a jet on a clearing in Old Moscow. He stood on the spot absentmindedly for a moment, looking at the horizon, before straightening his posture and slowly walking towards the black convertible waiting in the distance. Pulling back the hood of his cloak, he raised a hand in greeting to the two suited figures leaning on the car.

"왜 이렇게 늦었어?" Yong Jae spoke with an irritated voice, tapping his fingers against the frame of the car. His brother chided him softly. "Aw, don't be so hard on him. After all, he's going through a lot right now. I'm sure he didn't mean to keep us waiting for so long." He turned his dark eyes towards China. "Isn't that right, 형?" Yao could do nothing to suppress the shudder that climbed up his spine. "I-I suppose it is." Taking a deep breath, he looked down, biting his lips nervously.

South Korea smirked, only half of his mouth curling up mischievously. "I thought so-" He was interrupted by his twin, who was already in the driver's seat, tilting his head backwards anxiously. "Get inside already!" With a chuckle, the South Korean jumped over the door into the passenger seat. "I suppose we must get moving. We _are _late…"

North Korea grumbled, starting the engine. "-even by our pathetic standards."

.

.

.

The trio of Asians entered the abandoned Trinity Cathedral, hooded cloaks that seemed to devour light itself. The chapel's ceiling had crumbled away, exposing the basilica to the elements. Where had the former glory gone? The days of worshippers, fervently praying for the well-being of their homeland, were long over. All that was left intact among the ruins was the altar underneath the open sky.

One of the workers welcomed Yao with a curt bow, motioning towards the open ditch underneath the imposing iron wrought cross. When dismissed the man hurried away, eager to distance himself from whatever lay within the opening. He took the rest of the mean as he left.

China nodded with a thin smile on his face at the twins as they took their places on both sides of the door of the chapel. He stepped up the stairs towards the altar, marching up to the pit with a determined face. He stopped abruptly a meter away from the edge, his expression filled with hesitant worry. Pursing his lips together, he grimly approached, peering at the corpse of the Russian below.

"Is this where you were hiding this whole time," He mournfully addressed the dead nation, "just waiting for me to come find you?" He paused to listen, as if Ivan could speak. "You selfish, deceitful man."

His eyes were shut, that goodness for that. And for once, Yao could study the Russian's face unobserved. He had a strong nose, dark brows, a square jaw, and a full lower lip. He wasn't classically handsome, China observed, but his features were appealing, full of character. Without meaning to, China glanced at the broad shoulders and the smooth, almost white skin of his neck. Oh how much burden the world put on those two shoulders! When he realized what he was doing, Yao looked away quickly, as if the corpse could open his eyes and catch him staring.

"Ivan…" He whispered as he knelt beside the Russian's hiding place. 'I should hate him.' China thought. 'I should judge him.' But he knew all too well. There was always some madness in love. As he gazed into the depth of the grave, he slowly closed s eyes, remembering the time he had last been here, in the Cathedral of the Protection of Most Holy Theotokos on the Moat

.

.

.

"The wheels are in motion."

"Now we wait."

Translations:

왜 이렇게 늦었어?: Why are you so late?

형: Brother

[[The next 3 or so chapters are flashbacks of RoChu. Reviews and Comment would be great! I swear, I'm trying to see if I can end this because of the other fanfics that I should be working on… *dies* I can't help it if so many bloody fanfic ideas pour into my head! I'm still holding off on the million others I want to write, including more APH, Dramione, JohnLock, and Shizaya.]]


	10. Chapter 10: Timeless

Chapter 10: Timeless

Moscow, 7:00 P.M. February 14th, 1950

"Come one, there's something I want to show you!" The eager Russian tugged on China's arm as they raced up the winding stairs of the tower. "We're going to miss it!" He pouted anxiously as he shuffled his feet, waiting for the Asian to catch up

"I…" Yao protested, panting. Russia huffed as he scooped up the Chinese into his arms. "Too slow!" Ivan bounced up the rest of the stairs, ignoring the protests of the blushing China. He lowered the other man to the floor only when they reached the top, on the balcony. He rushed over the ledge, beckoning to the Chinese. "Come look!"

Yao leaned out over the wall to look at what he was pointing to, but a wave of vertigo stole his breath. The taller man gathered him to his chest. "Here. Hang on. I promise I won't ever let you fall."

Clutching Ivan's shoulders for dear life, China let himself enjoy the view: The soft blue of twilight, the velvety outlines of the land, and the pulsing, flickering lights of the city below, surrounding them. He was overwhelmed by the intoxicating feeling that together, they were standing on the brink of something immense. When Russia bent to kiss him, he closed his eyes, absorbing all that was so foreign, yet familiar about Ivan, like a kindred spirit- his taste, the softness of his lips, his arms holding the Chinese steady- and Yao could tell that the Russian was doing the same, drinking him in, committing the kiss to memory, as they found a home in each other in the descending darkness.

.

.

.

China stared into the Russian's stormy purple eyes. He knew the blonde man had stories to tell, about the past he was fleeing from, and the future he had planned for himself. He had always been fascinated by mysteries, and now, one had landed on his lap, tempting him to solve it.

While Yao gazed off into the sunset, pondering the mysteries of the frigid country, the taller man quietly observed the Asian, fidgeting nervously. Mildly irritated by this, China turned to snap at the European. "Well, do you have something to say? Out with it!"

Ivan stammered, grinning sheepishly. "I-I was just thinking if I should introduce you to my family… But I'm afraid they might creep you out. They don't take well to strangers being a part of their lives." He let out an exasperated sigh.

China chuckled, relieved by the confession. "Aren't all families a bit like that? Why, I remember Kiku getting so worked up over Alfred paying him a visit. He actually went ahead and blew those ships right out of the water!"

"Exactly. As dysfunctional as they are, family is… wonderful, isn't it?" Russia gave this latest idea a moment to sink in and took a deep breath to summon his courage. "And there was one more thing I've been thinking about." He looked off at the distant fields, drenched in tinges of the scarlet sunset. "Don't you think it's about time you got married?"

"I don't know. I don't think I'm what you'd call the marrying kind… remember?"

At this, Ivan couldn't help but wonder if the Chinese was teasing him. Well, he thought, he deserved it after the hard time he had given Yao when they were coming up the stairs. He dared a glance at the Asian. He saw a sly look he hadn't seen since their days together during the Mongolian empire.

"I think you're _exactly _the marrying kind… if you manage to choose the right one."

Now China was grinning. "I could marry Alfred. Or if he won't have me, maybe court Arthur."

Russia made his voice casual. "I think you'd be much better off marrying _me._"

"Ivan Braginsky, are you proposing to me?" He affected a shocked tone.

"Yes, Mr. Wang, and you better answer fast, or I shall rescind my offer."

"Don't do that." China's grip on the Russian's hand tightened reassuringly. "Yes, Ivan. My answer is yes."

Russia knelt on his knee, covering China's hands with his. "We may be poor and powerless compared to those other nations…" He slipped a sliver of coal into Yao's palm. "But I swear there will be a day when we are feared enough, powerful enough, to make this coal, the blood and sweat of our people, into diamonds." He closed the Chinaman's fingers around the black rock. "Yao, this is my first wedding gift to you, among many others. I swear I will never leave you, make you feel sorrow, nor leave you alone, in sickness and in health, even beyond the gates of death. Yao Wang, do you trust me?"

A smile, a nod, and they were in each other's arms, kissing, their fingers entangled in the other's hair, the length of their body warm against the lovers, the rising cold in the gathering dark florgotten in the background.

.

.

.

"Do you trust me…?"

[[First part of the flashback, beginning of the Communist Bloc/Sino-soviet alliance. Referring to Sino-Soviet Treaty of mutual friendship, Alliance, and Mutual Assistance (中苏友好同盟互助条约), with basis on a prior alliance of the same name in 1945. It's hard to pick and choose an exact date/time for this, so if you want to revise the facts, feel free to talk to me! Reviews, comments?

Please tell me: Happy end, or sad end? Please vote!]]


	11. Chapter 11: Beloved

Chapter 11: Beloved

May 16th, 1956

Minsk, 2:00 P.M.

Ivan quickly nudged Yao out of the room to spare him from being a sheath to the knives Natalia had thrown at him. The blades sunk into the closed door with grotesque sounds as China looked up, shivering. He could hear the Belarusian's grief stricken wails as Russia tried to restrain her from dashing out of the door to maul him. The Asian grimly slid down to the floor, listening to the melody of shouts and screams that seeped through the wall.

Time passed, and Russia finally emerged from the room, looking slightly shaken. Yao got up to rush to him, burying his face into the tall man's coat. "You shouldn't have waited." Ivan smiled sadly, gently rubbing China's back. "It's not something I wanted you to see."

"Don't treat me like such a child. I know how to handle myself…" The Chinese murmured, reaching up to stroke the bruises blooming on the blonde's cheeks. "She really doesn't like me, does she?" with a sullen expression, he stared at the closed door. "And she's so beautiful…" He recalled Natalia's aloof, frigid beauty. "Why in the world did you choose me over her?"

Ivan looked at China, looking incredulous at this comment. "Yao," He bent over to eye level with the Asian, holding his shoulders. "Yao, why would you ever even consider that? Aside from the fact that she is my baby sister…" He reached to remove a strand of stray hair from the other's face. "Why would you ever doubt my feelings? Don't you believe me?"

China wordlessly shook his head.

"After a while, even someone like me wants to be wanted for more than money or power, for more than just a reasonless obsession. Yao, you are just that."

"But your sister… she loves you above all that."

Ivan snorted, amused. "Maybe so. But that's still not the same as wanting me because she knows and understands me the way I am- as a flaming asshole." Ivan said. "Yao, you get me. And I think I get you. You are beautiful. Trust me."

China but his lip nervously, and whispered to himself. "I trust you. But not myself…"

.

.

.

December 20th, 1966

Beijing, 8:00 P.M.

The peace the two had found had been short lived. After all, the Asian thought as he reluctantly approached the blonde, happiness is always fleeting. No. It was not as everyone said it was. It was not as the whispered rumors said. The commie couple was NOT fighting. No. In fact, China couldn't remember the last time the two had fought. They both knew that the world had its eyes on the "red couple", as it had dubbed the two. One mistake, one public fight, one slip of the tongue, and everyone would be upon them, ready to tear them apart like vultures and hyenas. If they fought, none of the two would get the last oil field, neither of them would get to oversee the mining of the conquered country, and neither of them would get to control the projects in the north. No. It was nothing like that. They never fought- It was an unspoken rule, one that left the whole world puzzling over them.

But times and politics were changing, regardless of the love Ivan and Yao shared. They were reduved to curt nods in the hallways, as diplomatic relations worsened. They'd acknowledge each other quietly, muttering.

"Braginski."

"Wang."

Smiling subtly under the shadows of their caps… knowing they'd end up in some closet somewhere later…

To hell with Kruchev and Mao. At first it was fun, ducking in a random room to steal a kiss, shooting meaningful glances at each other at meetings, sneaking into each other's rooms at night to share drinks… and other forbidden things. They had thought that would last forever.

Oh, if only…

China walked up to Russia, a little bolder with each step. His fear, regret, worries… they all slid away when he stood in front of Ivan. Both nations clicked their heels in attention, aware that every pair of eyes in the room were suddenly focused on them.

"Braginski, so I hear you were leaving." China spoke, his voice strained and quiet.

"да, Yao. I am." Russia murmured sheepishly. "My boss calls me back."

"Is this because of the border? Are you so cowardly, to be a man and claim what is mine for yourself?"* Sharp edges crept into his words. "Can't admit your mistakes, Braginski?"Is that it?" China glared up into the eyes of the Russian. "You should stop making promises you cannot keep, else you'll find that the whole world will turn its back on you"** He looked down quickly.

The blonde flashed a carefree smile are the shorter nation. "It will not matter in the end. After all, I will have you. Because Yao loves me the most, да?" He cocked his head to the side alike an eager puppy waiting for praise.

All this time China had been struggling to hold back his emotions because he knew he shouldn't weep openly, not in front of all the officials… and Ivan wouldn't want to see him cry. Now, though, hearing the blonde's cheerful and expectant voice, he couldn't stop himself. Tears gave way, and he spoke through sobs. "I do love you, more than anyone. Knowing everything you're been through- But that's beside the point." The steel was back in his voice again. HE spun on his heels, clicked them together, and briskly walked out of the room.

He didn't walk far before Russia caught up with him.

China:

Who ever said that parting is a sweet sorrow? Even though I'm the one leaving him, there is nothing even remotely sweet about this. How cruel the world is, to split us over such trivial matters that don't even involve us. Such is the burden of a nation. We have an eternity of that to bear, to feel the pain and sorrows of the faceless millions of your people, to be responsible or their fate and well-being…

And the man in front of me shares the same pains. He is controlled by a force far greater than our existence.

"Come with me," He urged me, and I repeated the many reasons I couldn't follow him. He knew, I could tell. He had the same responsibilities, the same mandate, that kept us alive all these years. We had ignored it for decades, convinced that we were above all that- little gods of our own world. But no matter how fast, how far we ran, politics would always catch up with us. It was time to let go of our foolish dreams.

Before he left, he made love to me once more, running his warm hands over my body again and again, as if he was trying to memorize it. I curled up in his arms, and he kissed away my tears. We stayed like that until down began to peek through the curtains. Then he showered and bade me goodbye, softly caressing my cheeks. I did not dare open my eyes.

Notes and References:

*1966 China revived the matter of the Russo-Chinese border, demarcated in the 19th century, imposed upon the Qing Dynasty monarchy by means of unequal treaties that annexed Chinese territory into Tsarist Russia.

China did not ask return of the territory, but asked the USSR to formally acknowledge that the said border was a historic Russian injustice against China.

**The promises mentioned are the Treaty of Aigun (1858) and the Convention of Peking (1860) that established the Russo-Chinese border.

[[Perhaps the only REMOTELY NSFW part of the story… The story is based loosely on these facts and dates, and I don't claim that it matches perfectly. Next chapter is the last part of the flashback.]]


	12. Chapter 12: Blameless

Chapter 12: Blameless

"No one starts a war- or rather, no one in his sense ought to do so- without first being clear in his mind what he intends to achieve by that war and how he intends to conduct it."

-Carl Von Clauswitz, Von Kriege

1969, Beijing

-Account of the Sino-Soviet Border Conflict of 1969-

March 2: Chinese troops ambushed Soviet border guards on Zhenbao Island.

March 15: Retaliation by Soviet troops. Bombarding of Chinese troop concentrations on Chinese bank of Ussun, storms Zhenbao Island.

March 16: Soviets entered island to collect dead, Chinese held their fire.

September: Chinese troops return to Zhenbao/Damansky Island. Soviet border guards received order to not open fire against them.

Wang Yao trembled in disbelief as he read the debriefings. "He thinks he can toy with me and get away with it. Oh Ivan." He tsked, as if scolding a child. "You know better than to tease me. I am no good at the world's games…"

China smirked and added. "But then again, neither are you."

Moscow

Heightened tensions between the governments of China and the USSR raised the possibility of a nuclear war. In the early 1960s, the United States of America had "probed" the level of Soviet interest in joint action against Chinese nuclear weapons facilities. Now, the Soviets were the ones probing what the United States' reaction would be if the USSR attacked them.

Ivan's voice was hushed and tired. He spoke to the American, whose azure eyes glinted in the gloom. "So all I need to do is to be there and give him a good scare? That's all our leaders want?"

"Yeah. I guess so. Then I take over from there." The American nodded nonchalantly in agreement.

"If that is what they want. Only…" Ivan paused, hesitant.

"Only?" Alfred raised his perfectly arched brow.

"…don't hurt him." Ivan looked down, lacing his hands together nervously.

"I thought you hated him." America stared at him incredulously.

"You really are nothing but a child." Russia hid his morbid grimace at this accusation. "When one's heart is bound by so much love… it is very much like hatred."

.

.

.

September 11, 1969

Beijing Airport*

As war fever gripped the people of China, the officials in Moscow and Beijing scrambled to lower the dangers of a large scale conflict.

Chine walked behind his prime minister, a determined gleam in his eye. He was going to walk in, lead the talks to his favor, and walk out, leaving Alexei Kosygin stunned. The leaders were too busy thinking about what Ho Chi Minh's death would bring. Humans were like that, always preoccupied by the day by day, moment by moment things, by life and death…

But Wang Yao was not like that. He had spent thousands of years on the battlefield, in the imperial courts, in the thick of the cultural revolution- that life and death had become such trivial matters. Did one communist leader's demise inflict such dramatic ripples of change into the future? Perhaps for the next few years, at most a few decades… But no, nothing profound. His several millennia of experience told him that. He was not frantic, he was no unhinged, he did not care about one death. This was why he was able to change the tomorrow, the next year, and the next century.

And he was planning to spend the next few thousands of years doing the same.

Zhou Enlai reached the entrance of the conference room and looked back at China nervously. Yao nodded reassuringly. "Father, I am with you today. You need not worry about mistakes." After the leader entered, China sighed. Even these great leaders and revolutionaries were bound by human imperfection!

As he started to leave the seemingly empty hallway for the conference hall, he was dragged and pinned to the wall by a man. His assailant grinned under the shadow of his hood.

"Little Yao, little Yao, haven't I told you to watch what you do?" The stranger raised his head to meet China's eyes. The blonde had piercing violet eyes, full, sensual lips, and to top it off, he even at a faint scar- a sexy one, not a horrible one. The Asian gulped. IT was not that he wasn't used to being threatened, but this man was giving him such a look… "Ivan?" Yao gasped as his struggling forced the other's hood back.

"Shh." Russia shushed the Chinese as he examined Yao's face. "You look tired. And this is not the place for you to be."

"This is exactly where I should be, with my people." China growled. "Unlike you, coward, I have a meeting to be in." He struggled to get up with trembling legs.

The taller man sighed. "You, Wang, are a rat, and there are more than plenty of cats out there that would like to devour you."

"The way you bit me and left me to bleed?" China glared at his former love, swatting his arm away. "Stop talking about yourself. You sound disgustingly self-centered. And I can take care of myself plenty, in case you haven't noticed." He turned and marched straight into the meeting room.

"Where were you?" Zhou Enlai rushed forward to meet China as Kosygin got up to leave. Yao stammered, staring suspiciously at the Russian leader. "Father I apologize I.."

The Prime Minister beamed at him, clearly proud of himself. "Never mind the meeting. You have an important visitor." He beckoned for the blonde leaning in the corner to come forward, and walked away.

"Mr. Jones."

"Aw, Yao, cut the formalities. You sound do uptight. Just because you and Braginski had a little spat… You can cut me some slack, right?" He grinned knowingly.

'Ah, so that's what happened. Here I have a little cat, thinking he can swallow me whole. Ivan, you've always babied me so…' China suppressed the welling urged of hatred for the American and smiled back. "I guess so… Alfred." **

After negotiations and friendly banter, China bade America goodbye as he boarded his plane. As he watched the aircraft leave into the fading daylight, the Chinese smirked humorlessly. 'You can have your fun now, and convince yourselves that I'm something that can be toyed with or taken advantage of. But someday, I will be a rat that devours kittens.' He slicked back his hair.

'Who will be the one having fun then?'

China's relations with Russia remained sour despite continuous border talks, which lasted inconclusively for a decade. China became thoroughly militarized, and the USSR further increased forces along the Sino-Soviet border and in Mongolia. A new era had begun.

Notes and References:

*Sept 11. 1969. Soviet Prime Minister Alexei Kosygin, on his way back from the funeral of Vietnamese leader Ho Chi Minh, stopped over in Beijing for talks with his Chinese counterpart, Zhou Enlai. Symbolic of the frosty relationships between the two communist countries, the talks were held in the Beijing airport. The two premiers agreed to return ambassadors previously recalled and begin border negotiations.

**In 1971, America showed interest in strengthening ties with the Chinese government by secretly sending Henry Kissinger to China for a meeting with Zhou Enlai.

This led to Nixon's visit to China to meet Mao Zedong in 1972, during the "Ping-Pong Diplomacy".


	13. Chapter 13: Heartless

Chapter 13: Heartless

St. Peter's Cathedral, 7:00 P.M.

"Ah," China mused. How he had mellowed since then despite everything he vowed to be. Gone were burning flames of revenge and hatred. The only things left were regret and atonement. He had become an old man, aged, by not the world, but by the everlasting persistence of love. He tucked the sunflower seed into the corpse's clasped hands. All the things he did now, whether they were rash or sensible, he would do it all for this man.

The aged doors were forced open as America and England entered the chapel. "And so the hero makes his entrance to save the day!" Alfred grinned triumphantly. In his confidence, he did not see the two Koreans rush at him. He was caught and dragged to the base of the altar, to the feet of the Chinese. "So predictable…" Yao smiled in childish glee. "How kind of you to offer us a sacrificial lamb." He beckoned. The twins dragged him up the stairs and stretched him in front of the pit. Yong Jae put his knife across the throat of the America, grinning.

"Arthur, what are you waiting for? Shoot them all!" Alfred looked at England, puzzled. Why was he hesitating?

It surely must not be frailty, but inexperience that makes people so foolish…" China's smile spread wider. "-else one cannot say that he has not seen the power of age old love at work?" He looked at England, as if pitying him. "Isn't that right?"

The Brit growled. "I'd shut yer bloody trap if I were you."

Yao bit his lips in sarcastic ecstasy, hugging himself. "Oh? One- sided and unrequited? Even better!" Wagging his index finger at Arthur, the Chinese flew over to America, draping his arms around the blonde mockingly. "So, you know how this goes. What will it be?" He took the dagger into his own hand and pressed it into America's neck, as if making a point. "And you know when this blade skewers the target, these children will make sure that the wound lasts." At this, the Koreas nodded at each other, muttering low, rhythmic chants they used back in their shamanic days. They were old and powerful, unlike what the others thought of them.

England flinched, his eyes drawn to the weapon. "If that's how it should be…" He choked on his words. "Fine." He walked in front of China, rolling up his sleeve with a defiant glare. China laughed, spreading his arms open. "Hail the son of man, who gives himself up for the sake of love!" He handed the dagger to England, who drew it across the length of his arm. "Blood steeped to the last cell with magic- very hard to come across these days…" Yao's eyes gleamed at the flowing blood of the Brit, which dripped on the corpse. "And I can't ask these children to donate a pint, cam I? They're still anemic from the war!" Snatching back the blade from the Brit's trembling hands, he pricked America's fingers, drawing a thin stream of blood. Flicking it at Ivan's clasped hands, China giggled. "Oops, I guess you'll be withdrawing troops from Japan, after all!" He let Yong-Soo and Yong Jae release the pale American, who stumbled to England's side, glaring at the Ancients Asian Nation.

"Stop straining your eyes so. It's not good for your vision. "Wang Yao chided softly. "It's not like you can do much to me. It won't be good for diplomacy, won't it?" He sighed, covering his forehead as if grief stricken. "After all, I'm only the victim here- old lover and partner, dead… Poor China, I'm only trying to bring him back!" He spat out that last word at America, pointing an accusing finger. "YOU killed him! It's only right that YOU pay!"

America started to speak in protest, but China cut him off. "No, don't even start with your pitiful excuses! For once, I'm going to act exactly how I want to!" He recited from memory, the story from a wisewoman who had been convinced that she was being spoken to by a god. The truth was, she was not. As if any god, no matter how unimportant it was, would deign to come to earth, to speak to its creation! No, earth was damned to the hands of darker forces, and power was only a matter of controlling them.

"I once heard of a man

Who split himself in two.

The one part never changed at all;

The other grew and grew."

America had heard this before, sometime during his colonial days with England. He was taught this, yes, by the Brit, but what for?

"The changeless part was always true,

The growing part was always new…"

When two kindred souls are separated by death… Alfred noticed that Ivan's corpse was gone. "What?"

"And I wondered, when the tale was through,"

Two voices spoke now.

"Which part was me, and which was you."*

A bright smile bloomed on China's face as he reached to hug the arms draped around his shoulders.

"I missed you… Ivan."

Notes & References:

*From the God Whispers of Han Quing-Jao, "Children of the Mind", by Orson Scott Card

[[China sounds absolutely. Insane. (and with an aptitude for dramatics). I'll start to, oractually finish in the next chapter.]]


End file.
